The Book of Deacon (57 page)

"Now. To mark my success," she said.

The pen came to her hand and she turned to
the book. Dipping the tip of the quill in the ink, she pressed it
to paper, or at least tried to. With a waver, the pen passed right
through the book. Azriel clenched her fist and whisked the illusion
away.

"Where is it!" she demanded.

Myranda answered only with a cold, silent
stare. Azriel turned and held out her palm toward the castle in the
distance. The entire contents of the bookshelf, as well as the
hourglass, streaked across the ground to meet her. A wave of the
same hand flung all of the books open at once. The pages fluttered,
each revealing itself to be completely filled. She turned viciously
to Myranda. The girl removed the red-covered book from her tunic
and grinned. Azriel wrenched it from her hands, clinking it against
the wall of her transparent cell.

Myranda snatched it back and protected it
with all of the strength of mind she could muster, which in this
place was more than considerable.

"Release it, girl. There is precious little
air in there, and it grows more precious by the moment. It will not
last you until the time runs out. I will make sure of that," Azriel
said.

"You cannot win. If you break this to have
the book, I will be free and you will not be able to sign it. If
you don't, I will last the time limit. If I meditate, I will hardly
have to breathe at all," Myranda fairly taunted.

Azriel gritted her teeth. The world around
them was crumbling in the wake of her anger. Myranda clutched the
book and turned away. The mystic pull on the book relinquished just
long enough for a small opening to appear in the side of the
capsule. Myranda turned to the blast of cool air, holding the book
in front of her. Azriel tore it from her hands and whipped it open.
Myranda grabbed it and struggled to pull it back, but Azriel had it
in her hands now. Myranda pulled and pulled with her mind, and the
book constantly threatened to slip from the teacher's grasp, but
she managed to produce the pen and, in a very unsteady scrawl, mark
down Myranda's name.

With the deed done, the sky resumed its azure
hue, the faults in the ground sealed over, and the capsule
containing Myranda vanished. She lowered gently to the ground. The
delightful little cottage that served as the start to the trying
ordeal seemed to form again around them. A moment later, while she
was still dazed from the sudden and complete change, Myranda's
friends reappeared. Deacon rushed to her, having seen all that had
happened. Myn scampered over, happy to see Myranda again, but
stopped suddenly to survey her friend.

Myranda looked ragged and worn out. She was
drenched with sweat. Vast patches of her clothes were scorched. Myn
glanced first at Deacon, then at Azriel, eager to find someone to
blame. The decision did not take long, as she gave Deacon a quick
series of lashes with her tail as punishment.

"Ouch. I was beside you the entire time! I
couldn't have done this," he said, reaching down to help Myranda
up.

"She should be very proud of herself. It was
a tremendous showing. I dare say she figured a spell or two out for
herself while she was being tested. The mark of potential to be
sure," Azriel remarked, once again fully composed and matriarchal.
She was busy arranging the red and white books again, a look of
mild confusion on her face. She was having trouble fitting them on
the appropriate shelves.

"You certainly outperformed me on my first
failure. I required no less than three attempts to complete it,"
Deacon reassured her. "I shudder to think what would have become of
me had I put up half of the resistance you did. I was a bit worried
toward the end."

When Myranda stood, a book slipped from her
tunic and dropped to the ground. The rogue book, a red-covered one,
drew the attention of all present. Azriel knelt to retrieve it,
placing it on the table beside the one in which she had just marked
Myranda's name. They were identical. The teacher silently waved her
hand over the first book. The red color faded to white.

"Clever, clever girl," she said quietly.

Deacon's jaw hung agape as Azriel flipped to
the last occupied page of the newly-white book, where Myranda's
name could be clearly seen.

"Well then. I would not say that it was the
most straightforward method, but a technicality is nonetheless a
victory in this case. It would appear you have passed after all. I
wonder--when did you steal the two books?" Azriel asked.

"While you were dispelling my illusions one
by one," Myranda said, lowering herself shakily to a chair.

"And you stumbled into the bookcase to cover
your tracks. Brilliant!" Deacon said.

"You certainly fought valiantly to keep hold
of that book, despite the fact that it was the one you had wanted
me to sign all along," Azriel said.

"I thought you might suspect something if I
didn't. Not to mention I was not certain it would work, and I was
afraid of how you might have reacted had you discovered what I'd
done," Myranda said.

"You could have been killed for the sake of a
ruse!" Deacon said.

"Well, I don't think she would have killed
me," Myranda said with a weak smile.

"I most certainly would have. What do you
suppose the black book is for? It contains the names of those whose
ambition overcame their resourcefulness. Lucky for you, I was able
to wrestle the book from your grip before I wrestled the breath
from your lungs," Azriel said. It was unnerving how nonchalantly
she was able to seem when speaking about her willingness to
kill.

Myranda swallowed hard as the realization of
her situation swept over her.

"Well, I would so love to chat with you, but
I simply must improve my spells. I still cannot believe you managed
to keep me out of your head. That is a rather rare feat. Off with
you. Go do some well-deserved bragging," Azriel said.

Myranda and Deacon quickly obeyed. Suddenly,
Deacon's fear of her seemed entirely justified. They kept a rather
brisk pace, with Myn trotting behind, until they came to a
seemingly arbitrary spot in the field surrounding the cottage.

"Wait here, would you?" Deacon said.

"Why here?" Myranda asked.

"We have reached the edge of the arena. I
must retrieve your staff," he said.

He leaned forward, the very air in front of
him seeming to ruffle like a curtain as he vanished, first to the
shoulders, then to the waist. When he stood again, his upper body
reappearing, he held the staff. He was also dripping wet.

"There. You will need this if you hope to
make it back to your hut," he said.

"Why? I feel quite well. A bit shaken, but
aside from my poor heart, I don't believe I am any the worse for
wear. I feel better now than when I entered," she said.

"Yes, and you will lose that benefit when you
leave," he said, handing her the staff. "Now, watch your step."

Myranda took a few steps forward. As soon as
her head left the boundary of the arena, she felt as though all of
her strength had been sapped from her. She leaned heavily on the
staff for support. It sunk partway into the muddy ground. The
downpour she had inadvertently caused was still raging. In some
places the water was ankle-deep. When she had taken a moment to
adjust to the state of mental drain she once again found herself
in, she spoke.

"Why hasn't someone stopped this rain?"
Myranda asked.

"There is your answer," Deacon said, pointing
to an odd sight at the edge of the lake in the distance.

"What is it? My eyes won't focus," she
said.

"Ayna is arguing with Calypso. This happens
every time a storm must be stopped. Storms are all wind and water,
so it falls to either Ayna or Calypso to manage them as our
resident experts, but Ayna will not let Calypso do so. While
Calypso does not care about the storm, one of her favorite things
in life is torturing Ayna, so she categorically refuses to allow
Ayna to do so either. More than once, the argument has outlasted
the storm. Forget about that, though. Let us get you to bed.
Tomorrow night is the blue moon and you must be at your best," he
said.

The words barely filtered into Myranda's
head. She stumbled and sloshed her way to her hut, closed the door,
changed into dry clothes, and collapsed. Myn took her usual perch
atop her, and the pair drifted off to sleep.

#

Myranda did not so much as stir until midday,
when Deacon reluctantly woke her and informed her that the ceremony
would be starting soon. When she left her hut, there was a feeling
of anticipation permeating the village. People rushed to and fro.
Deacon led her to the courtyard where the Elder's hut had been. It
was now conspicuously missing, and in its place, there was a
rectangular marble altar.

In any other place, she would question how an
entire structure could have vanished overnight and be replaced with
something else, but here she merely admired the altar. At each side
of it, there stood a smaller one bearing a bowl. People had begun
to join hands around the ring that Myranda and Deacon had retreated
to when she first came here. On the edge of this ring, nearest to
the mountains, was a tall post topped with a hoop. Below it was the
chair of the Elder.

"We will begin shortly and continue until the
last of us drops, so I had best give you your instructions. We will
join hands around the central altars. When we begin, the elemental
Masters will provide a mystically pure sample of their respective
element. We will then focus all of the strength that we can muster
into your neighbors. In this way, all of the energy that the
Masters need will be available. Once the ring as a whole has
reached a state of focus, we shall begin to chant 'Earth, fire,
wind, water.' Whatever language you wish. With a blue moon in the
sky, the spirits will hear," he said.

"How will we know when it is working?" she
asked.

"You will know. Now, until the moon rises, it
is very important that the ring not be broken. If you feel that you
cannot go on, join the hands of your neighbors before you pass out.
Once the moon is at its height, though, you need not worry. Let us
begin," he said.

Myranda was led to her place on the circle.
The Elder was at the north end of the circle. Calypso was present,
once again displaying a pair of legs. She and Ayna, Solomon, and
Cresh were spaced regularly about the circumference. Deacon was at
the south end. Myranda found herself on western side, and soon she
discovered that Lain was situated directly across from her in the
distance. All of those who formed the circle were at least at the
level of mastery that she had reached, leaving apprentices and
other low-level students scurrying about, attempting to prepare the
ceremony. Azriel was absent, either unwilling or unable to leave
the arena, so the task fell to her to occupy Myn for as long as
necessary. After what she had been through, the thought made
Myranda more than a bit uneasy.

There was little time to think of that,
though. She joined hands with those beside her, a pair of warriors
she had spoken with several times in the days following her
encounter with Hollow. Cresh approached the central altar and
poured a sample of rich brown earth into one of the bowls. Ayna
followed and conjured a burst of wind that swirled against the
bowl, somehow persisting and rotating within it. Solomon cast a
tongue of flame into another bowl and it burned brilliantly without
fuel. The final bowl was filled with water drawn from the air
itself by Calypso.

Soon the magic began to flow. It was the most
curious feeling. She focused and spread out her strength, only to
feel more than she'd contributed flowing through her. For a long
time, she felt no stress or fatigue at all. The same could not be
said of the warriors. Before the sun had set, half of them had
reached their limits. By nightfall, she was holding hands with
Solomon and Cresh, and the circle was slightly more than half of
its original size.

As the moon began to peek over the horizon,
the chanting began. It was curious to hear all of the different
voices and languages chanting in bursts of sound. The power flowing
through them was noticeably increased, and it grew stronger with
each passing minute as the moon climbed higher in the sky.

The last of the warriors--with the exception
of Lain--and the first of the wizards began to fall, and Myranda
could feel the strength draining from her. The magic had grown so
intense that it was visible, racing about the circle as a pale blue
filament of energy. Holding hands was no longer needed, and the
elemental Masters separated to focus more intently on their
tasks.

As the moon climbed even higher, the purpose
for the hoop at the end of the pole became clear. The shadow cast
by the supernaturally bright moonlight was approaching the altar.
When the moon reached its peak, the altar would be entirely within
the circular shadow. A pair of the younger wizards collapsed and
were dragged away by apprentices. Myranda struggled to maintain her
concentration. The task at hand was an odd one. She had to keep the
power she was immersed in moving, despite the fact it was more than
she could handle if it was still. It was oddly like juggling.

The big moment was only a few minutes away.
Of the dozens that had started, only eight were left. The Elder
stood firm, with the four elemental Masters showing signs of
fatigue. Both the white and black magic Masters had just fallen,
and Deacon looked ready to break. Lain, somehow, was as steady as
ever. Myranda could feel herself wavering. Then the moon made its
last shift. Time seemed to slow as the thin filament of energy
swelled to a thick band, then practically a wall that blocked out
the outside world.

Each elemental wizard struggled forward. A
portion of the energy was pulled away and forced into the pure
essences at the altar. First, the wind swirled savagely, moving
slowly over to the earth. Instantly, the earth was caught up in the
breeze. The water came next, whirling up into the powerful mix.
Finally, it approached the fire. Rather than the wet mixture
hissing into steam or extinguishing the fire, the flames seemed to
mix with it as smoothly as the other elements had. What was before
them was a spinning mass of all of the elements, here red as fire,
there brown as earth. Here thin as wind, there thick as water. The
unique mass swirled atop the central altar, basking in the most
direct rays of the blue moon.